


Meeting Those Left Behind

by blackholehuman



Series: How to Start Over [2]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guess who still sucks at tagging (its me), It says major character death but like he's already back so it's okay, M/M, Multi, SnowBaz, does it count as OC if they exist in canon but don't have names or personalities?, not me, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 10:48:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholehuman/pseuds/blackholehuman
Summary: Baz? Alive. Still. (What a blessing).Good company? Kept.Future?...uncertain. Because Baz has yet to meet those he left behind.





	Meeting Those Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone with two brain cells to rub together knows I don't own these characters! They belong to my queen Rainbow Rowell. 
> 
> This is the sequel to Keeping Good Company. Just like how Rowell wrote Fangirl and couldn't get these characters out of her head, neither could I. I decided that Simon and Baz deserve a future, but then realized... how the heck is Baz going to be introduced into society again? This is the product of that question.

**BAZ**

 

After a month of being alive again, Simon and I felt it was time to introduce me back into society.

Simon refused to go the legal route. The Coven, he felt, wouldn’t understand if I was sprung upon them so suddenly; and without any allies but himself, there were slim chances of keeping an altercation at bay. He insisted that I go back to my family first, so I could then have my father and Fiona to back me up.

I told him that doing so would probably send me back to where I’d just come from. I realized as soon as it had come out of my mouth that the situation was too real to joke about yet. That was the first time Simon and I fought since I’d come back.

Fighting with Simon is more difficult now. There’s so much I don’t know about him (or anything, really) and even though we once thought we were going to kill each other, now there’s more at stake. Losing each other would be infinitely worse than death. Simon says he knows this because of how he felt when death took me. _I_ know this because I can picture losing him hurting much more than the nothingness I had felt in that thick fog I came to know as death.

Neither of us wants that. But I still didn’t agree to see my family first. We agreed I would need a bit of a warm up before going to Hampshire again.

That’s how I ended up here, in an old coffee shop somewhere in London. Simon ditched me, making up a lame excuse of all the errands he had to run, as soon as we walked in the door.

My two best friends are seated at a three person table in a corner by the window. Niall spots me first and waves me over. I walk towards them tentatively, and Dev turns and smiles warmly at me.

It’s as like nothing’s happened. Like twenty minutes have passed since I’ve seen them last, instead of twenty years.

It reminds me of how they acted when I’d been kidnapped. I shiver upon remembering the darkness and stench of an underground coffin, and decide that’s something I can deal with later.

“Basil, we ordered you the coffee that most tasted like sugar, hope that’s okay,” says Niall, smirking.

I smile at them and sit down. “You two gentlemen know me so well.”

They talk politics, Normal politics, and I can hardly believe it. What could be so interesting about Normal politics? They explain Magickal Britain’s governing system over the past twenty years; that the Mage has never been replaced, and the Families have become appallingly boring. Which is why Normal politics have become so popular; mages have finally realized that they need to participate in society if they want to keep up to date with new spells.

Talking to them seems so easy, and it _is_ , which is wonderful and terrible all at once.

That is, until Niall gets a call.  A single red heart shows on the screen.

I raise my eyebrows at him, and he blushes deeply, picking up the mobile to answer.

“Hello love. Why, I’m at coffee with-” he glances between Dev and I (Dev is looking at me curiously out of the corner of his eye, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s acting strangely all of a sudden) “...some old school friends.”

Niall looks out the window as he listens, then responds. “No, not Simon. Why do you ask?” Whatever her answers is, it makes all the blood run out of his face. He’s as pale as a vampire when he answers, “I- I can’t answer that, love. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. See you tonight? Right. Love you too, bye.” He stuffs his mobile in his pocket and continues to stare out the window.

Suddenly, everything is awkward. The silence is so present I can hear the blood pumping through my heart (a completely new sensation, and also, it turns out I got to keep all the benefits of being a vampire: super strength, heightened senses, x ray vision. Just kidding about that last one, though).

“Niall, you alright? Who was that?”

Dev lets out a sharp bark of laughter and quickly reaches for his tea to stifle his amusement. Niall turns to me slowly, and says, “My wife,” as if he’s talking to someone who doesn’t know English.

“What’s up?” I ask, still desperately trying to pretend everything is normal.

“She- she asked if Simon had a Visiting,” he responded.

“Of course he had a Visiting. Doesn’t she know Simon’s lost everyone he’s ever loved?”

They both stare at him, before Dev shakes his head and says, “Fuck, mate, that’s _exactly_ what Simon said.”

“I told him off,” Niall remembers, smirking.

“You have no right this time,” Dev pointed out, “seeing as you owe him an explanation.”

An incomprehensible part of me flares in anger that they’ve left me so out of the loop. Then I’m angry at myself for committing suicide without a second thought which _caused_ me to be so out of the loop.

“An explanation for what?” I question, attempting to soothe my frustration.

“Oo, look Niall, he’s already angry. Lucky you he’s not a vampire any longer.” Dev starts laughing maniacally, Niall reddens, and I still feel out of place. We’re all acting about thirteen, which makes this entire situation even more infuriating.  

Niall’s jaw works, and I can tell he’s trying to work up the courage to say something. I elbow Dev in the ribs, reducing him to a snicker. After a moment of what looks like a breathing exercise, Niall says as calmly as possible, “That was… you know, my wife. She was asking whether or not Simon had _you_ as a Visiting. I didn’t think it would be wise to tell her yet, so…” he trails off.

“Mate,” Dev starts, almost clucking his tongue, “Dragging this out is only going to make it worse.”

“I would be sitting on pins and needles,” I deadpan, “If I had even the slightest clue what you were talking about-”

“I married your sister,” Niall suddenly blurts.

There’s silence again. And then: “ _Mordelia_? The girl who never knocks? Complains about everything? You’re a full ten years older than her!” I don’t even register the words that are coming out of my mouth. I’m just saying what I think. Is this what Simon feels like when he’s frustrated?

“Wait a moment, she’s only nine years younger than me!”

“Niall, that’s my _sister_!”

“And so what?” Niall yells, furious, “You weren’t here, were you?”

Well.

That stings.

Dev looks really uncomfortable beside me. I turn to glare at him.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender, “I’m not your sister’s keeper. Besides, they’re happy! You’ve got a niece and a nephew now!”

On his other side, Niall fusses with his wallet, pulling out small pictures, which indeed reveal his children. He places them in front of me. Both have dark brown hair and Niall’s unfortunate freckles.

“Elizabeth Jane is seven, almost eight,” Niall points to the photo of the girl. His finger moves to the boy with light blue eyes and continues, “that’s Oliver... He’s four. Oliver Basilton.”

Niall isn't looking at the photos anymore. He’s looking at me with Oliver Basilton’s same blue eyes, but they’re full of sadness.

I’m staring at Elizabeth. She looks just like Mordelia the last time I saw her.

“The twins are twenty four now,” Dev explains to me, “Aldora’s just gotten engaged and Cedany’s going to start at graduate school in the States next fall. Edmund finished at Watford top of his class, and has been at Oxford for two years now.” Dev tells me softly.

I can’t bring myself to lift my gaze. It amazes me that Dev can still know what I need to hear as much as it amazes me to hear that Edmund, who had been not even two years old last I saw him, was about as old as I thought I had been after stepping out of the thick fog.

All of my siblings were too young to enter the library at home when I last saw them. Now the youngest is halfway through uni.

I don’t know how much time passes before I look up again. Dev drums his fingers and finishes his tea while Niall stares out the window. The quiet isn’t comfortable, but I don’t think anything can be comforting in this situation.

I finally move my head when I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. It’s Simon, I can tell without looking (he smells like scones and bacon and butter. Like home) so I stand up.

“Ready to go?” he asks, not smiling.

“Yes,” I answer.

Before we step out of the shop, Dev and Niall both nod at me. I nod silently back.

 

**SIMON**

 

The car ride home is quiet. I can tell Baz is hacked off about something, but I don’t know what. I can probably guess, though. Niall _did_ marry his sister, after all.

But how can I know for sure if he doesn’t communicate with me?

His anger could be at Niall, but it could also be at himself, which makes it all the more dangerous. Self frustration is something I’ve tried to get him to avoid in the past month, and it had been working pretty well.

Granted, the distractions ended up being erotic grope fests instead of sit down, serious and therapeutic conversations that he probably needs at this point. I guess whatever we’d been doing has worked so far, but I’m afraid it's just prevention of the inevitable.

Last week, when we fought, both of us resorted to the manner we used to fight in. What he said was fucked up, but he just made things worse by sticking to it instead of apologizing and admitting defeat. On top of that, anything he said to me I threw right back.

It got to the point where I made to draw the Sword of Mages. I said the words and everything. He froze when nothing happened. And I had to remind him that my magic was gone. We were both sad about it all night, so he held me and thanked me for avenging his mother. Even then, Baz didn’t concede an apology until morning.

I can practically feel the fight brewing in him right now. Is this what it was like to be him, back when my magic was unstable and constantly overflowing?

It’s not until I’m loading heaps of pasta and sauce into bowls that Baz confronts me. He stands at the kitchen entrance, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and looking down at me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“Tell you what?”

He sneers. I feel about fourteen. “Do you mean to say there’s more you’re not telling me?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, because it wasn’t.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” He responds, because he’s still so fucking smart.

“About Mordelia or about what I haven’t told you?”

Baz scoffs, exiting the room with an eye roll after throwing his arms in the air. I set down the fork I was twisting in the pasta this whole time and go after him.

He’s just standing in the middle of the room, staring at the only wall with decoration. The fake Picasso. I step forward tentatively, ending up next to him.

“Baz?”

He rounds on me, eyes glassy and lips in a curl. “What haven’t you told me, and _why_?”

“Because I knew you’d act like this!”

He throws his head back while barking out a sarcastic laugh, before saying, “Snow, I think this is pretty reasonable, considering I’ve been dead for two decades.”

Merlin, he’s just so… insensitive, that’s the word. Even going back to using my last name (or rather, my middle name).

That’s fine. Two can play at that game.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” I growl at him, “I wasn’t exactly given an instructions manual, was I? ‘How to Babysit Your Recently Resurrected Roommate: For Dummies.’”

Baz steps closer to me. The look in his eyes is lethal. “Don’t even act like this isn’t the most exciting thing to happen to you in twenty years.”

 _Christ_ , another low blow. I know my face is reddening, so I try to calm down quickly, like I used to have to for my magic. Baz is pissing me off so much that I hardly even realize how close I am to him when I step forward, smirking.

I barely even register saying, “Oh, I dunno Baz, your sister’s wedding was pretty fun.”

At first, Baz is so fast in his movements that I wonder whether or not he’s still human. I’m slightly aware of his fists in my shirt propelling me backward. But then, the pain I feel and the loudest ripping noise I’ve ever heard shocks me back into reality.

I shout, “Anathema!” because I think  that might be the only thing that would work. He lets go, and I fall to the floor, gripping my head and panting hard. I can feel something fall behind me, even though I can’t hear it over the thudding of my head. I turn ever so slightly to see what it is.

Of course, it’s the fake Picasso. My head made a hole right at the base of the violin. The edges of the ripped canvas are slightly pink, and when I put my hand on the back of my head, it comes back slick with blood.

I almost want to laugh, because this is the fight we were supposed to have twenty years ago, the one that would have decided the outcome of a war. When I turn back to Baz, he’s just staring at the wall where the painting was, and where I’m now assuming is a head shaped dent complete with a slight spatter of blood.

“Simon,” he breaths.

“My eyes are down here, you git,” I say without any real venom, and then immediately regret it. Speaking takes a lot of energy when you’ve (probably) got a concussion.

Baz doesn’t speak. What he does is pick me up, carry me all the way to the bedroom, and lay me down on my stomach on the bed.

“You’re an arse still,” I tell Baz matter of factly. I can’t see him (my face is buried in the softest pillow) but I think he’s nodding.

The last thing I hear before sleep pulls from the corners of my mind is the beginning of a string of healing spells.

~~~~~

I wake up with Baz laying on his back next to me. He’s staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to memorize all of it’s cracks.

My head is fine. I feel lighter than I have been in weeks. I _know_ Baz is resting after pouring all of the healing magic he can muster back into me. His thoughts are loud and all I want to do is go back to sleep.

I should probably be angry, but I can’t bring myself to care that much. It was just as much my fault as it was Baz’s. I’ve already forgiven him, but I don’t want to tell him that just yet. I just want to curl into the space between his neck and shoulder and make him fall asleep with me.

So I do. Baz’s breath hitches, but he thinks better of whatever he was going to say, instead opting for bringing his arm over his chest and into my hair. I notice the way he feels for a tender spot on the back of my skull, and it’s such a caring gesture that I press a kiss to his shoulder through a layer of cotton shirt fabric, just to let him know I’m alright. I hope it let’s him know _we_ are all right, too.

We fall asleep.

~~~~~

The next morning, I wake up and head to the kitchen, depositing the old spaghetti into the trash bin and begin to make breakfast. This is a morning for pancakes, I think.

I try to quiet my motions, because Baz is still sleeping. At Watford, he used to be angry whenever my incessant stumbling about would awake him from his beauty sleep. The fact that I thought of it as “beauty sleep” should have given me hints for my sexuality earlier, but then again, I had a lot on my plate back then.

Just like these plates are full of delicious pancake, thick syrup, and greasy, bubbling sausage.

But _fuck_ , even food can’t distract me from thinking back to the past. Once I start, it’s always so hard to stop.

My train of thought eventually gets to the particular moment in eighth year where I caught Baz trying to steal a book. There’s something funny about that memory, and it’s like I’ve been back to it before, picking up a small, square piece of paper…

 

**BAZ**

 

I’m only a third awake when Simon comes banging into the room. The sound is so jarring I sit up instantly, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy rummaging furiously in his sock drawer, where he previously kept my wand.

I can tell the exact moment he finds what he’s looking for, because his movements slow, and his mannerisms match those of someone who is cradling a fragile little bird. He turns towards me, eyeing a square bit of paper. I have an intense feeling of deja vu, but I can’t place where it’s coming from.

When he looks up, he stares at me so intensely I can feel myself blushing from my bare chest all the way to my cheeks. Tears form in his eyes.

“Here,” he says, handing me the paper. I take it, and a quick glance reveals the photograph of my mother’s hands holding a four year old me up in the creche.

And I remember how everything started. With a photo in the office of a murderer. How did it end up like this? With my skin the same color it was when I was born, no fangs, and no hunger for blood.

He says my name, and I know how this happened. “Baz,” he repeats, and I think, _love love love,_ over and over.

I remember throwing him into the wall and nearly cracking his skull yesterday, and think of how I _still_ don’t deserve him.

Instead of voicing any of this, I look down at the photo again.

Simon is not crying anymore when I look up at him. He just looks mildly concerned.

“Take me to Hampshire,” I say.

 

**SIMON**

 

Right, well. There’s one problem with that. It’s the weekend.

I don’t know if it was traditional before, but it’s definitely traditional _now_ for the Grimms to be together on the weekends. They’re referred to as the Grimms now, ever since Baz died. Fiona could have kept the surname Pitch, but she decided that the world was trying to rid itself of them, so she changed her name, and I quote, “before death takes me too.” She’s got a bloody dark sense of humor (heh, bloody dark- maybe it’s a side effect of marrying a vampire).

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s the weekend, so the entire family will be there for dinner. Including Fiona, who married Nicodemus, the arsehole who triggered the darkest corners of Baz’s mind leading to his suicide. It hurts to think about Nicodemus as I knew him at the age of eighteen, because he’s really turned (pun not intended) his life around for Fiona and her family. As far as I know, they all went to group counselling to sort everything out. Although, I’m not sure how well that worked, because I seemed to receive a lot of distressed Grimms on my doorstep that year.

“He had to hide everything, Simon,” Malcolm lamented to me over a bottle of sherry, “because I never cared to acknowledge the parts of him I despised.”

Daphne used to call me and ask through tears what more she could have done. She stopped believing she could be a good mother after what happened to Baz when she had tried her best with him.

The twins, Aldora and Cedany, along with Edmund, the youngest, were forced into the awkward position of a family eternally mourning someone they couldn’t even remember.

Cedany is very philosophical about this, and eventually came to the conclusion she couldn’t hate her parents for being so disturbed (“But I do wish they would get some help,” she told me once). Aldora didn’t mind at all; she enjoyed living the high life that the Grimm family fortune could afford her. Together, they looked after their younger brother, who concerned them most.

“He’s everything Basilton was and more,” Cedany told me, on a rant, over a fancy dinner. I winced; Edmund could only ever be more because he was _alive_.

Aldora nodded, and said, “I’m sorry, Simon, but Baz was such a dark person the shadow he cast dampered all the light _we_ could have had,” at which Cedany told her off for speaking so ill of their older brother, and an argument began.

Mordelia took Baz’s death worse than even I did (because eventually I decided the best option was to completely ignore it). She was so young, but that didn’t stop her from being upset that his vampirism and sexuality were hidden from her, especially because she was raised on the doctrine that _family is everything_. As Mordelia grew older, she began to understand more and more that her parents were partially responsible for Baz’s suicide. It made her resent them.

The other problem was her magic. It became more apparent when she got to Watford, where her spell work was awful even though her Elocution was flawless. It became dangerously unstable, worse than mine was. She wasn’t putting holes in the magickal atmosphere like I was, but it exhausted her to use so much magic at once. Dr. Wellbelove couldn’t find a solution, and by then things around her were breaking or smashing or growing every time one of her emotions changed.

She didn’t go back to Watford for the optional eighth year, the first one to do so in her family (Baz notwithstanding). Instead, she decided leave England and study magickal beings (not mages, though) around the globe, and independently. Her research led to several breakthroughs and a more comprehensibly united magickal world. Despite all of this, Malcolm tried to force her to come back home and settle down (with an arranged marriage, no less), and he threatened to cut off her funding permanently if she did not do so.

I was there for this argument. It was one of the few times I joined them for dinner, and I was only there because Mordelia was and so was Nicodemus, and for some ungodly reason I was supposed to mediate. Turns out he wasn’t the problem, though. Like I said, Malcolm was.

All she did was laugh at him. Hysterics, honestly. The noise took on magic, even though she wasn’t saying any words, and it made everything in the room vibrate until she started speaking again.

“I haven’t used that money in a _long_ time, father.” She shook her head trying to blink away tears. “I can’t believe you underestimate my discoveries so much.”

“I don’t care! You should come home anyway!”

“Why? So you can have all your perfect littlethings in one place?” Malcolm's face went almost purple with rage. Her eyes slid to where Nicodemus and I were sitting, and she got a wicked grin on her face. “You know what? You won’t want me anyway, once I’ve crossed over.”

Obviously, this sent most everyone into some sort of rage-like fit. Edmund laughed through it, and honestly so did I, because the expressions on Malcolm and Daphne’s faces were amazing. It wasn’t so funny, however, when later that night I heard her talking to Nicodemus about how she would go about doing such a thing. I had to explain to her _why_ it was that Baz killed himself: because he was his mother’s son, who killed herself when she was bitten. It was heartbreaking, even if I wasn’t using his name. Mordelia was mollified, though, shrugging it off and saying, “Well, it was worth it for their expressions. Aleister _Crowley_ , did you see how purple Father went?”

The only reason Mordelia was even there was because of a remembrance thing that the Grimms were throwing for Baz that week; and that’s where she met Niall. She felt that she had finally found someone to talk to about Baz who wasn’t in part responsible for his death like her parents (or I) were. He understood Mordelia’s grief. He asked her to move in with him to get away from it all, and everyone ignored Malcolm’s protests of her arrangement with a faceless, nameless man and Daphne’s warnings of unstable magic. She went, I think, to spite them, but then to everyone’s surprise, her magic settled. They got married not too long after that.

She told me about the engagement (before anyone else) over coffee where I usually met Niall and Dev. “It’s just…” she trailed off, watching her coffee stir itself with a spoon intently. “He makes me quiet,” she finished, nodding to herself.

I remember thinking about how strange it was that love can feel so differently to different people. If anything, I felt quiet back then, watching her ring glint in the sunlight. But for me, quiet had always been filled with emptiness.

It makes sense that all I can feel these days is fire.

Realizing that I love Baz is one of the most awful things I’ve had to experience. It was just a regular morning, and he rolled over snuggling close to use my chest as a pillow. His hair spilled out all over my shoulder, and I just- I felt it like a tug. Like how magic feels (used to feel). And I knew, in that moment, I was doomed. _We_ were doomed.

People I care about never make it out alive. Now _that’s_ a dark thought. Eons ago, when I figured this out, I decided I didn’t deserve love if all it did was hurt others. I decided it would be easier to just be empty like I was, if only to save everyone else.

Anyway, I don’t know why they used me as an emotional outlet, as if talking to me was like talking to Baz since I was the last one to see him. All it did for me was dredge up things I wanted desperately to bury, but it seemed to give them some relief. I felt like talking to me further strained the fact that they couldn’t communicate as a family, but at least they were showing some semblances of humanity.

Even after all of this ametur theraputic shit, how am I supposed to tell Baz about Nicodemus? How do I tell the Grimms about Baz?

I pick up the old photo while Baz is busy getting dressed and decide to be very “Simon Snow” about the whole thing.

As soon as Baz is ready, I get him in the car and drive to Hampshire without thinking twice.

 

**BAZ**

 

They say that coming home is hard because the changes are too difficult to handle. It’s been twenty years, though, and what’s scaring me the most is the lack of change.

I was shocked to see wrinkles on Penny’s face and unknown freckles on Simon’s.  The turns and twists on the road that leads to the Pitch estate, however, are the same as they’ve ever been. The forest is still, and though I used to know each branch and leaf and tree I have to look away now. It’s too quiet in there.

Simon has become the noise of my life, the thing that has made me feel the most alive since coming back. I should probably tell him.

But the feeling is too close to the charcoaled words I told him two decades ago in a forest fire. I don’t think either of us could handle that, not yet.

Despite being creeped out by the static state that I left my homeland in, I’m wholeheartedly enjoying watching Simon navigate the road with one hand with the other on the console, held firmly in mine.

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz’s eyes have closed by the time we pull up the driveway to his house. I can see several cars out front, including Fiona’s. No hope that she and Nico won’t be here, then.

I shake Baz awake. He starts, and grabs my hand in a death grip, but realizes it’s me and says, “Oh.”

“We’re here.”

He swallows, looking nervous.

“I don’t know how to tell them,” I elaborate, seeking his help.

“Well, you certainly aren’t going to tell them wearing that, are you?”

I look down, and I remember I’m still in casual wear, or what the Grimms and Baz would only refer to as pyjamas or garden clothes. I’m about to ask just what he plans on doing about it before he turns and reaches around for something in the back seat. He grabs a bag and throws it into my lap.

Upon opening the bag, I sigh. “Of course you’ve brought suits when what we really need is a _plan_.”

“But we won’t be able to stay for dinner if we don’t wear them.”

“You’re alive, Baz, I don’t think they’ll care about what we’re wearing.”

“It’s called dignity, Snow,” he smirks. I throw the bag at him. “Okay!” he shouts, “Sorry, sorry. But seriously. Put one on.”

“This was just a plot to get me to wear a suit for once, wasn’t it?”

 

**BAZ**

 

It’s not my fault Simon looks stunning in  a grey suit.

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz rolls his eyes and says, “Obviously.”

Once we’re both dressed, I try halfheartedly to come up with a plan. Which is to say, I ask Baz if he’s come up with one yet.

“I think,” he starts, but shakes his head, as if he’s trying to erase an idea. “I think you should tell them you had several Visitings. Then I think you should explain the whole Purgatory thing Bunce came up with-”

“That was her colleague’s idea, not her own. And besides, I hardly remember why it works.”

“Don’t interrupt me, but fine, don’t tell them. Maybe instead tell them that your last Visiting was different. From there on, wing it.”

“ _Wing it_? Since when do you deign to speak slang like that-” I begin to ask, but stop. Then I sigh. “Penny told you about the wings?”

“Penny told me about the wings,” he confirms, laughing, “And just for the record, I wish I could have seen the tail.”

“Don’t joke about it,” I say, almost pleading. “I worked hard to avenge your mother.”

Baz’s face softens, and he reaches for me, dragging one of his thumbs across my lips. They burn.

“I know,” he says, before pulling me into a deep kiss. It feels like I pull away an hour later.

“If we really want to do this, we can’t keep stalling. I’ll come get you when we’re ready, yeah?”

Baz pulls away, nodding, and lays against the seat. “Good luck,” he whispers, and I squeeze his hand before I leave the car, making my way to the front door.

I’d forgotten the path to the door is now lined by small basil plants. It’s overwhelming, because that’s not really what he smells like, and I rush to knock on the door.

I immediately regret this because it gives me no time to think about what I’m going to say to them about Baz.

Luckily enough for me, Edmund opens the door. When he registers my face, he says, a bit dejectedly, “Oh.”

“Yeah, Ed I know, but, look- can I come in? I need to talk to you and your family before dinner.”

His lips turn down at the corners but his eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Yeah, um, sure. You’re always welcome here,” he says, a bit awkwardly. The Grimm children were never as refined as Baz was. Edmund stands aside, holding the door open for me, and I enter.

After Baz died, the Grimms did some serious redecoration. Daphne told me she couldn’t stand living in such a dark and creepy house anymore, much to Malcolm’s shock.

“Darling, I thought you loved this place! You said it was vintage,” he had scolded.

“Of course I did!” she responded, “But it was never _my_ home. Home, for sure, but never _mine_.”

Malcolm had to concede to that. Fiona especially was impressed with Daphne’s readiness to change, and was the first to volunteer to take down every dark draping or outdated wallpaper.

The house is still huge, of course, but it’s much brighter. There are skylights wherever appropriate and luxurious chandeliers in the spaces between. The entire back of the house is basically one large window with a sliding back door. All the furniture is any variance of the light, neutral colors that somehow all look good against one another. As far as I know, the only room that hasn’t changed is Baz’s; that’s where they let me stay when I come to visit. I don’t think they realized how uncomfortable it made me to lie there with all these memories being watched by forty two wooden gargoyles carved into the frame.

I’m glad now that they haven’t changed it, because he might be a little shell shocked when he gets sunburnt by walking into the house (I mean, it’s not that bad, but the point is that it’s bloody bright in here. Nicodemus really tries to avoid coming here in the mornings and late afternoons. I would have thought it was comical if it didn’t make me think of all the times I opened up the curtains in our turret just to piss Baz off).

Edmund leads me to the sitting room where everyone’s having tea. “Simon’s here,” he announces lamely, and a bit too late. Everyone is seated on the beige circular couch, gaping up at me. Daphne is the first to snap out of it, getting up and pulling me into a hug. She tugs me towards an open space and sends the maid (nurse? Nanny? I’ve never figured it out), Vera, to fetch more tea and scones.

Malcolm is looking at me with all the intent in the world, and I try to scan the room for a more friendly face, but Mordelia and Niall aren’t there, which is really odd. Neither is Aldora’s fiance, who is kind but who’s name I can’t ever remember.

In my efforts to discern where Mordelia could be hiding herself, her husband, and two children, I miss Aldora saying something and I’m suddenly being passed an envelope by Cedany. I look at her in confusion, and she murmurs, “Save the date.”

“Oh, thank you,” I respond.

“You can bring a plus one, too,” adds Daphne. She, like my old boss, is obsessed by me finding happiness through dating people. Even though this family is half the reason I wouldn’t have; dating someone else would have felt too much like I was moving on.

I decide that this is a good place to start, and ignore warming up to the topic with talks of my other Visitings. I can’t keep this secret anymore- I just want it on someone else’s shoulders, and then I don’t have to deal with it anymore.

“I will, thank you.”

Fiona narrows her eyes at me, and Nicodemus raises his eyebrows. His eyes are too intense for me right now, and I feel like he’s reading my mind, even though I know he can’t (do I _really_ , though? What does anyone know about vampires, anyway?).

Nicodemus blinks, and I swear he quirks a bit of a smile. “No way.”

See what I mean? I have reason to believe that vampires can read minds.

“Who is it then?” Daphne asks, interested.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Baz.”

For a moment, no one moves a muscle. The sun begins to set behind them, and I notice that Nicodemus has seated himself in a clever, shadowy area of the room. All I can hear is breathing and birdsong, until:

“How dare you.” Firm and low comes Malcolm’s voice.

“You’re very fortunate that Mordelia is late,” is Daphne’s shrill cry.

Malcolm stands and points to the door. “Get out.”

I suck at this.

Cedany, my saviour, and ever the voice of reason, says, “Wait a moment. Simon would never hurt you intentionally. Why don’t you let him explain himself?”

Fiona has her mouth covered with a hand, and Nicodemus looks amused. He must not have missed how Cedany subtly pointed out that she and her present siblings were not the ones grieving for a brother they never knew.

“He came back when the Veil lifted,” I say in a rush, before any of them have a chance to protest. Once I have all of their undivided attention, I begin again. “That week, I was Visited four times: the first day, by my mum, Lucy Salisbury-”

“Oh good heavens,” Daphne gasps, “I know Lady Salisbury, her mother.”

As much as I want to know more, I have to continue. “And my dad, who turned out to be the Mage-”

Nicodemus, Fiona, and Malcolm all jump to their feet and begin to yell. This is why I didn’t forgive my father. The lasting impression he’s made brings out the worst in people.

“Stop!” I yell over them, but none of them are listening.

“ **Simon says** _,”_ Edmund whispers, pointing his wand at me.

Almost at the same time, but a bit delayed, I yell again, “ **Stop!** ” but this time, it comes out with magic and forces them to shut up and sit down.

Despite the positive outcome, I glare at Edmund. “That spell is dangerous. They could have died.”

Edmund just shrugged, leaning back in his seat while tucking his wand back in his pocket. I realize that they’ve always been dead to him, because he was never important enough.

In fussing over what went wrong with their eldest, the Grimms and Fiona neglected to right their wrongs by raising the younger children better. Maybe this is why Mordelia is always so up in arms with her parents.

“And Ebb. Not for secrets, just for company. I think,” I swallow, “I think she knew he was coming. And he did. Just, showed up to my door the last day of the Veil being open and walked right in. He wasn’t misty or white or anything- he was _alive_.”

“If he was alive, he couldn’t have done that,” Nicodemus chided. “We have to be invited, remember?”

I shake my head, searching in my pocket for that old photo. I take it out and pass it to him. “His skin looked like that. Full color.”

The photo is passed around before eventually landing with Malcolm, whose eyes become a bit blurry at the edges. “I took this,” I hear him whisper to Daphne.

“I had this old cross that burnt him just before-” I don’t want to say it, so I continue, assuming they know what I mean, “Before. He touched it that day and felt nothing. I also gave him back his wand-”

“His wand?” Malcolm’s voice is strained. “His wand disintegrated years ago. _You_ told us that.”

“Yeah, well, I lied, didn’t I?” I snap. I can’t believe they keep finding excuses. It’s like they don’t want to believe that Baz is back. “It takes a lot more heat than that to ruin ivory.”

Malcolm sits back, stumped.

“I wanted to keep it,” I say tenderly. “I’m sorry. I should have given it back- but then, he wouldn’t have been able to practice his magic, would he?”

“You mean, he stayed after it closed?” Daphne gasped.

“Yes.” Everyone takes in a breath.

I’m the first to let it out. I allow myself a small smile. “I know. I woke up, and he was still next to me, and I was so spooked I actually fell out of bed.”

“But the Veil closed a month ago,” says Fiona, “Why are you only telling us now?”

 _This_ is kind of embarrassing. “We’ve, er, been… busy. Catching up.”  I reach my hand up to scratch at the back of my head, blushing furiously.

Both Aldora and Cedany giggle while Edmund smirks knowingly. Malcolm has his nose scrunched up in an obvious look of distaste. I wish Mordelia was here to tell him off.

“Get over yourself Malcolm,” Fiona snapped from across the room, “Your boy is back. Now is the time to be accepting.”

He frowns, and with his nose still wrinkled up, it looks like he’s sneering at me. “I don’t think I’m fully convinced.”

The family falls silent again, contemplating this. I know it’s time to bring out the big guns.

“I’ll be right back,” I promise, before turning and heading to the door.

 

**BAZ**

 

When I hear the front door open and close, I don’t even wait until I see Simon to get out of the car. I’m already anxious, might as well force myself to do this. The walk towards him is lined with small basil plants amongst other assorted herbs, and that kind of creeps me out, because no one in my family has ever been the gardening sort.

Simon, not paying attention, almost runs into me on his way back. I grab his shoulders to steady him, he startles.

“Baz?” he asks, as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Here,” I say, squeezing his shoulder and quickly kissing his cheek. I can feel his body unclench.

“What’s with all the herbs? My family’s never gardened like this before.”

“Your dad’s side is the magickal-agricultural type, remember? But these are all Daphne’s. Occupational therapy, you know,” he adds, but I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything less than _why._

“There’s mostly basil in there,” he presses.

“Funnily enough, my vision works quite well, Snow. I just don’t understand why, is all.”

He’s giving me the face he makes when I’m being unnecessarily cruel or inconsiderate.

“Because the only thing on my wall just _happened_ to be a painting of a violin, Baz? _Basilton_? Come on, you’re not that thick.”

The realization makes my skin prickle. It reminds me of seeing Simon’s fake Picasso for the first time: knowing how people desperately tried to fill the Baz- shaped holes in their lives makes me feel guilty all over.

His face softens as he sees me shutting down. He reaches up to bring one of my hands to his lips. “I’m sorry we never told you sooner, how much you meant to us.”

“Aleister Crowley,” I meet his gaze, “You understand.”

Simon just nods and leads me towards the front door. “Are you ready?”

I just look at him. “Coming home has always been hard.”

He nods. Opens the door.

And I’m home, I’m finally home-

Except.

This is not the place I knew twenty years ago. Everything inside is shining brilliantly with the light of the setting sun; I’ve never seen so many windows and skylights in my life. The antique furniture remains, but modern pieces have been mixed in. The walls are a simple shade of light brown, making everything look warm but pristine. Pale blue and green colors are everywhere, different hues spattered against them as the sun sets. I feel like I have to squint to move to the next room.

“Different, isn’t it?” asks Simon, looking around.

“That’s an understatement,” I murmur, but I don’t know if it’s the house I’m mourning or my childhood.

He squeezes my hand and says, “They left your room the same. The bed’s still got those weird wooden gargoyles all over it.”

I grin. “You’re tasteless, Snow.”

Simon gives me a sad smile. “Come on, they’re just finishing up tea.”  
When we walk into the sitting room, the light is so intense (an entire wall is missing. They’ve just replaced it with huge glass windows and a sliding glass door) that I only see my family silhouetted against the dying of the light. And then they all move at once, way too fast for my vision to react (which is saying something, considering that I kept all the extrasensory perceptions that a vampire has). The next thing I know, six arms are groping for me, and three voices apologizing all at once. Then I hear something I’ve never heard before in my life, and never could have even imagined.

I hear my family, and myself, crying into each other’s shoulders.

 

**SIMON**

 

Even though everyone moves when we arrive, it’s only Malcolm, Daphne, and Fiona who move towards Baz. The rest step away from the emotional scene. The group hug they’re giving him is breaking my heart, and the way that they’re all collectively crying is beautiful. I want to join in, but, for once, I need to think one step ahead. What’s going to happen when they release him and he sees Nicodemus standing five meters away?

I slip my hand between the tangle of bodies until I find Baz’s wand where it’s sticking out of his pant’s pocket. I grab it and hide it in a vase full of eglantine roses and then walk towards the other group.

“Is that really him?” Cedany asks. I barely have time to nod before Aldora adds, “He’s a lot more handsome than I imagined.”

“He better not leave again,” is all Edmund contributes before folding his arms and frowning.

Nicodemus is silent but is intently watching the group, waiting for Baz to react.

“How is it even possible?” Cedany questions me.

“You’ll have to ask him or Penny. I’ve stopped remembering all of it.”  
“I mean, he looks _really good_ for being forty,” Aldora continues.

“Hey, watch it. We’re both thirty eight.”  

“Ugh, who even counts after twenty nine?” Aldora says, waving me off with a hand.

“Rational people,” answers Cedany, and they begin to bicker about the relevance of age in society. Edmund says nothing, but when I notice that his attention has waved between the twins and something beyond my shoulder, I know Baz must have turned around.

Baz and Nicodemus are having some kind of stand off. In all reality, it just looks like a really intense staring contest, but I know that Baz’s eyes can feel lethal. I step closer to him so I can stop him if I need to. He reaches behind his back, presumably to draw his wand, but doesn’t show on his face that he can’t find it. He lowers his hand back down, casually, as if he wasn’t about to duel a wandless mage.

I swear everyone now is holding their breath. Cedany and Aldora have stopped their argument for the sake of watching this tension unfold.

Then Nicodemus does the stupidest thing he could have done in this situation. He relaxes, crossing his arms and looking Baz up and down.

He says, “Well, look at you. Somehow _still_ living the dream.”

I don’t even register what Baz picks up from the tea table beside him. All I do is jump in front of him, grabbing at his hand to stop whatever it is he’s about to throw. Whatever it is hits my skin with a sickening sizzle and pop and I hiss while Baz tries to pull away from my grip. At this point, all I can do is hope that Fiona has-

“ **Stand your ground!** ”

-her wand. She’s a fierce magician, I don’t mind saying.

Baz stops struggling with his arms and instead tries to shake his legs to get his feet unspelled from the floor, to no avail. I look at my left palm, and am astounded to see a deep burn, already oozing blood and another clearish liquid. Shocked, I look to see what Baz picked up from the table.

Of course. One of the long candle stems.

He was going to set Nicodemus on fire.

“That was stupid of you,” chides Fiona. She looks rather pissed.

“I couldn’t help it, I’m sorry,” Nico says, pained.

“You couldn’t help being an arse? Jesus, Nico!”

“He tried to throw a candle at me!”

“And he set himself on fire because of you! _Now_ you’re even,” Fiona deadpans sarcastically.

“Fi, don’t be like-”

“Not now. You should probably leave.”

Nicodemus just grunts and shuffles out of the room. When he passes by Baz, who still tries to lunge after him despite being stuck to the ground, he mutters, “It’s actually good to have you back, kid.”

Baz watches him leave, sneering in a way that makes me think he’s forgotten that he doesn’t have fangs anymore. When the front door shuts, he turns to everyone and says, “What the fuck, Fiona.” Not even asking questions.

“Baz, please-” but he cuts me off with a scathing look, full of hatred.

“ _That_ was the other thing you weren’t telling me, wasn’t it?”

I shrug, and it pisses him off. “Snow, you imbecile,” he scowls loudly.

I look up to the ceiling as if strength will fall from the sky. “Don’t start this again, Baz. There’s no paintings to throw me through.”

Instead of sobering him instantly, like I thought it would, he deliberately looks toward the window wall.

“You’d better be joking,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

He mimics my expression, clenching his jaw. “Fucking try me,” he growls.

“You’re being,” someone says from behind me, “a dick.”

I turn slightly, and Edmund is suddenly standing with his fists clenched at his side.

“Simon is just trying to help, because Nicodemus is our _family_ now,” he continues, moving closer to where Baz is stuck to the ground. “And what a relief, too, because he was the only one who never wanted to talk about you. The only one who took interest into Cedany’s studies or Aldora’s love life or, hell, _anything_ I did, because everyone else was too busy mourning you.”

Baz looks stricken.

“I don’t know you, and neither do the twins. As far as we’re concerned, you’re a stranger. Don’t _ever_ try to attack our family again. People who do that don’t have much of a lifespan, I hear.”

I wince, and everyone knows he’s talking about the Mage.

Edmund waits a moment for Baz to respond, but he’s been rendered speechless. He huffs, and says, “Look, what Nico said- and did- was fucked up, okay? I won’t deny that. But at the end of the day, it comes down to family, like it always has. It’s not Nicodemus’s fault you were raised to hate yourself, is it? It wasn’t him who made you feel,” Edmund looks a bit choked up, “like… like you’re never enough. Alright? It’s not his fault.”

And he stalked off, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

Baz turns to his father, brow furrowed, and asks, “What did you do to him?”

Malcolm sputters indignantly, but Cedany answers, “Nothing.”

“And that’s the problem,” finishes Aldora, “they never _did_ anything.”

 

**BAZ**

 

Nicodemus aside, I can’t believe how dysfunctional our family has become. Its somehow worse than when I left them.

Edmund stomped off in tears after projecting his own emotions onto me, and the twins (I don’t know which is which; they have the same face, although one is sporting a stylish pixie cut and designer clothes while the other has a messy bun and trackies) are defending him against their own parents. _My_ own parents.

They look as though they might explode, actually. Which makes me realize that they’ve never even talked about this issue before, much less sorted it out.

I guess the interior decor _is_ the only thing that’s changed about this family.

“So, you all continued to make the same mistakes you made with me.”

My father, Daphne, and Fiona all wince. I fall forward because Fiona’s spell loses hold.

Simon’s at my side immediately, even after I’ve threatened to throw him out the window.

I’m not good for him.

I use my right arm to push him away and stand up on my own. Simon follows, but his jaw is clenched, and he won’t look at me. I wonder if he’s just realized I’m no good for him, and also just what in the fresh hell is he doing here defending me to my psychotic family.

“I feel like this would be better to discuss over dinner,” my father says.

Simon laughs bitterly. “Postponing the shitstorm won’t make it any better, Malcolm.”

“But it will allow time for Mordelia, Niall and the kids to arrive,” Daphne argues, “And we might as well have the whole family here for it.”

“The whole family?” Fiona scoffs. “I think Nico and I will pass. I’d rather not bring home his ashes.”

I growl at her, but Simon clutches my arm, “Baz and Nicodemus will _both_ be on their best behavior if anything is going to be solved tonight.”

Fiona scowls, but Simon seems to take this as an agreement. “Let’s go,” he whispers into my ear, and the way he says it sends shivers down my side. He’s angry.

I let him pull me upstairs.

**SIMON**

 

I’m taking him to his room so he can at least feel comfortable when I yell at him. But almost as soon as we get there, he starts crying.

I swear I’m not pathetic. I have a reason that I find it so hard to be mad at Baz.

I’m in love with him.

That’s scary, because everyone (except Penny, because she’s invincible) I’ve loved has died, but there’s something even worse: I think he loves me too. And I’m terrified that he’s going to say so, and then disappear.

 _Disappear_ because that was his truth. Just like my mother’s was that she loved me, the Mage’s was that he was my father, and Ebb’s that she was still my good friend. They all left soon after saying their truths.

I fear that Baz will look me in the eye and say, whole heartedly, “I love you, Simon.” because it will be just like last time he said it except worse because I was teased with the hope that he was alive, and real, and that he would stay. I fear that he will say those words then fade away just like everyone else I loved did.

That’s why I can’t stay mad at Baz: I don’t want that to be my last emotion towards him.

And also, I just can’t bring myself to dislike him, because it makes me feel cold and empty inside, just like before.

Anyway.

There’s a dried and shriveled amaranth under a layer of cobwebs on his antique dresser, and he picks it up, frowning.

“Why is all this still here?”

“Nobody’s touched this room, except me, in twenty years. And even then, I’ve only slept on the couch.

His eyes cut to the couch, and something about it makes his stare hold, and the flower drop. It’s delicate branches snap off and scatter across the floorboards, leaving small broken petals in their wake.

I have to remind myself I’m mad at him as I start to see tears form in his eyes. Whatever it is, he walks towards it and snatches it off the couch.

I’m behind him, so he’s shielding whatever it is. I take care not to crush the fallen flower even further when I get nearer to him. In his hands is a large book with the title “Remember the Magic.”

There are tears streaming down his cheeks, and he can’t stop looking at the book.

“What happened,” he whispers, “after?”

“Penny and I figured out that the Humdrum was just me taking everyone’s magic, and on the way to tell the Mage, we figured out he was the one to kill your mother. He was withdrawing his sword out of Ebb’s body when we got there, and I just-”

“No I know that part, I mean _directly_ after.”

I start to shake. I knew he would ask me this eventually, but it breaks my heart to replay it all in my mind anyway.

I close my eyes.

What happened, _indeed_.

~~~~~

What happened was that though Baz’s spell was effective enough to get me out of his fiery circle of hell without breaking any bones it was nothing compared to what came after.

I’ve always known what it feels like to have a star go nova in your chest; it happened back then all the time. But I’d never actually _seen_ it. I knew the instant Baz was gone because I felt the shockwave hammer straight into my soul, and the bright fire shining like silver shooting into the trees, and it seemed to ignite the night sky.

I was still surrounded by flames. Hyperventilating from the smoke and the shock of it all.

I kept thinking, _You idiot, how could you,_ over and over and over. I thought I was going to die, and I was pissed that he wasn’t there to do it, even if it _was_ overtly his fault.

I kept thinking, _I never even knew he was gay._ And then, _I never even knew_ , full stop, because at that moment Baz seemed more like a boy than a villain or a monster.

I kept thinking of all the ways I should have stopped it, because he loved me, because I was the last thing he held on too, but I wasn’t enough, even though he promised me I would “save us all.”

Save who? The world of Mages? Baz himself told me I was the worst Chosen One to ever have been chosen. Well, it bloody well wasn’t my fault. It’s not a title I asked for or even wanted.

_And I couldn’t have even saved him._

It all made me feel like a failure. I couldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t stop feeling my lips and forehead, the last places he touched-

That’s when I went off; but it was different this time. I went off and I sucked all the fire into me, and the trees went back to the way they were. Nothing was charred or burnt.

I was immediately sick, though, as if I had not only sucked in the fire but also the very magic that created it. That's when the Humdrum showed up, saying that he was so close to becoming a part of me instead of just an echo. All it took for Penny to figure it all out was those few words.

Before I left the newly restored clearing, however, I walked over to where atop a huge pile of ash lay an ivory wand with a singed leather handle. This is around the time Baz stopped being Baz and became simply _him_. I buried him in one of my lists.

I wish I could say that telling his family the news was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but it wouldn’t be true in the slightest. I walked into the Pitch mansion dirty and splotchy red insisting to Vera that it couldn’t wait. She directed me to the dining room, and what a shock that was for them (probably) to look up and see me smeared with ash and clothing partly singed off- _without_ Baz. The plate of eggs Daphne had been passing to Mordelia dropped and shattered on the ground, eggs sloshing onto the carpet.

They probably assumed the worst. And of course, the worst _did_ technically happen, but I think they were picturing the End Fight that was supposed to happen, the one that would have decided the outcome of a tedious war.

Malcolm rattled off “ **Tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth**!”

That’s why it was so easy to tell them. I just sat in a comfy chair and let the spell take over the story. It’s why they know everything, including his secret pining for me.

We were all crying once my truth had been told. Malcolm’s usually expressionless face sunk tenfold and dry salt stained his cheekbones because the tears all but ran out. The twins had left the room a bit before, but Edmund as a baby just looked bored.  Mordelia started screaming and was in complete denial until she insisted I show them all the ashes, and I did.

That was the first time Mordelia’s magic went awry, although we didn’t know it was her back then. I showed her the ashes, and a tree branch fell behind us.

Mordelia… I don’t know how she’s going to take seeing Baz again.

Oh well. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

 

**BAZ**

 

Simon opens his eyes after a few moments of heartbreaking storytelling. His shaking is slowing and his breaths are becoming more even by the second.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to do. He gets up off the couch and goes to sit on my bed. I walk over with him and lean on the bedpost.

“I’m still mad,” Simon replies, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. But he doesn’t look mad, he just looks really tired. Like I’ve exhausted him.  One of his hands looks a bit mottled as he brings them back into his lap and turns slowly to look at me.

“It’s just-” he blusters, but I cut him off by grabbing his hands and pulling them toward me. I end up sitting cross legged right next to him. I look at the hand he was cradling, and am shocked to see that there are second degree burns on his palm.

“Is this just from the candle?” Simon nods and I curse. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat.  

“I won’t say okay. Because it _isn’t-_ but I’ve already forgiven you,” he answers.

“How can you be like this?” I whisper. “After I’ve hurt you so bad?”

“Because hating you for it is harder, and I don’t want to spend whatever time we have left fighting.”

My eyes snap his. “Simon. Are you saying-”

“Don’t!” He’s shaking. “Please.”

I stare at him because he’s looking away so it won’t matter what I do. “You have to help me understand. Because I promise,” I scoot closer to him, winding an arm around his waist and pulling him against me, “that I am not going to leave you.”

“Not _willingly_ ,” says Simon dryly.

His blue eyes bore into mine. I’m suddenly reminded that I love him.

And Crowley, I want to tell him. So much. But what if he reacts badly because it’s pretty much the last thing I said to him?

Simon is still a bit shaky. I use my strength to sit him up properly against the headboard, then kneel between his legs. He’s got a curious expression on his face, and I feel a bit silly too, seeing as I’m about to kiss him senseless as if we were teenagers instead of thirty eight year olds.

Oh well.

He tastes like the expensive, exotic tea that Daphne always buys. The kiss is like the one on the first day I came back; like we were both remembering. Remembering something so important and surreal.

When I pull back and rest my forehead against his, he’s still got an odd look in his eye. I put my hands on either side of his face and kiss his forehead. His breath hitches, and I know he’s thinking of how I did this in the fire, because I am too. Simon’s hands fly up to capture my wrists, but nothing could push me back now. This emotion has been inside me almost the entirety of my life, and not even Merlin himself can stop me from saying it.

Simon’s eyes have squeezed shut in this process, and I wait for them to open. When they do, it’s slowly, and his breathing is shallow. My hands hold him fast.

“I love you.”

He stops breathing

“Hey,” I say, shaking him. “Breathe. In and out. With me, come on now.”

Simon’s looking at me like he’s terrified, but he matches our breathing anyway. He’s moving his burnt hand up to mine, the one with the cross in it. He chuckles, but his eyes are wet.

“What?”

He looks at me through misty blue eyes. Smiling.

I’d do anything for that smile.

“We match.”

“Why?” I turn over our hands and examine them. “Because we both have burns on our palms?”

“Nah,” he smiles again, casting his eyes down as he blushes. “I mean, yes- but that’s not what I was going to say.”

Simon stops talking, but he’s doing that thumb on hand rubbing thing that makes _anyone_ in a relationship week.

He looks up at me again, and relief is spread all over his face, although I don’t know why.

“I love you too,” he says, and it feels like my insides are burning as he tackles me onto the bed.

 

**SIMON**

 

“You didn’t disappear,” I say, exasperated, between kisses.

“You’re literally on top of me, Snow. How could I have disappeared?”

He’s being cheeky, and I love him for it. I _love_ him for it. What a relief that I can say it now.

I push up on my elbows so that I’m looking down on him. His dark hair is splayed against the satin red duvet, and silver eyes are gleaming up in amusement like happy diamonds. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“All the other Visitors disappeared,” I started, and he frowns. “You weren’t- aren’t- like them, I know. But I thought- maybe you didn’t express your love _enough_. That maybe it was your truth.”

He’s still frowning at me, brow crinkled and everything.

“But I tried to feed you to a chimaera,” he pouts, “I thought that was really romantic.”

I’m shocked out of words, and I push up again so I’m on my hands and knees, still straddling him. Baz is looking at me with a stony serious face, but after a moment he breaks into laughter, a smile literally splitting across his face.

“Oh Merlin, Simon. Your face.”

I know I’m turning redder by the minute. “Shut up. You’ve got a funny face yourself.”

He snorts. “Excellent comeback, Snow. Points for creativity.”

I lean down to kiss him again to wipe the smug expression off his face (and because I love kissing him. Honestly, it’s hard to stop). Baz responds immediately, lifting his entire body up by tucking his elbows underneath himself and pushing, more like shoving, his face into mine. I mean, really, it’s like he’s trying to attack me.

Just as suddenly as he starts, Baz stops. One of his long fingers comes up to trace my jaw. He nudges his nose against mine, turning my face until his lips are pressed against my ear. When he speaks, it sends chills throughout my body.

“I will _never_ disappear again.”

I shudder for multiple obvious reasons.

“I love you, Simon, and that’s what binds me to Earth.”

He lays back down, and even though I’m above him, I feel so vulnerable and open. He uses the hand that’s on my face to turn me back towards him. Once we’re having what feels like a staring contest, his hands slide into my hair and my eyelids flutter closed.

“Gorgeous,” I hear him whispering out in one breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, like the words crawled out of his lips and straight into my heart of their own accord.

I look at him. Baz has the softest smile and the most cloudy eyes on the planet.

“And you… Well, your love brought me back, didn’t it?”

He’s right, as always. I kiss him as a mini reward. Kissing Baz is other worldly. Quite possibly _literally_. But it’s lovely all the same.

The next time we stop to take a breath, Baz hugs me close and tight. “You do know you deserve this, right? That you, out of all people, deserve to love and be loved in return.”

“Oh Jesus,” I say to his shoulder, “You understand.”

He nods into my neck and presses a soft kiss to my throat.

I scramble (I don’t know why I’m rushing) to get my hands on him, _anywhere_ on him. Making out is one thing, but actually having Baz’s arse in my hands is quite another. All of this is pushing us closer to the edge of the bed opposite to the headboard, but neither of us notices (or cares). He lifts one of his knees, hooking one of his legs around mine, and presses his hips forward.

My moan is so loud that he laughs at me. “Shh,” he chides, “My entire family is downstairs. We don’t want any unexpected visitors, now do we?”

“Fuck it,” I curse, kissing his neck since he’s so intent on mocking me, “they already know.”

“Yes, but- _fuck_ -” Baz hisses as I bite softly on his earlobe. He really likes this. I can reduce him to a pile of gush if I continue. “Get back here,” he demands, but not unkindly. I oblige.

It’s almost funny, making out as if we’re sneaky teenagers. I’m half expecting someone to catch us going at it, just like in the movies.

I say _almost_ funny because it’s not really that funny when it _actually happens._

 

**BAZ**

 

It really shouldn’t be a surprise that someone caught us, and it shouldn’t be a surprise _who_ caught us.

I mean, honestly, has the girl ever fucking knocked in her life?

If she has, she isn’t doing it now.

Mordelia is opening the door while saying, “Simon? The family said that you needed to talk to me before di-” but not finishing the sentence.

I can’t blame her for staring because I’m sure we look ridiculous. Simon, flushed above me, mouth open in shock (and because no one ever taught him to close it), and me, head hanging over the edge of the bed looking straight at the door. The hair, I’m sure, is creating a halo around my face, but there’s also a giant hickey on my neck (probably) and since there is a man straddling me and obviously turned on, I doubt I look very saint-like.

When Mordelia peels her eyes off of me and puts them back onto the specimen above me, all he says is, “Um.” And somehow it’s eloquent (maybe because I could not have done any better myself).

“Simon. Who is this?” she asks sharply. It stings a bit that she doesn’t recognize me, but then I think maybe she’s in disbelief.

 _I_ certainly am. Mordelia has seriously grown up. She must have gotten braces at some point, her teeth are perfectly straight and her pink lips close over them easily. Brown hair falls shoulder length in waves. Her eyeliner looks sharp enough to cut anyone who looks at her the wrong way, and the clothes she’s wearing look comfortable (she does have two kids, after all) but obviously designer.

Mordelia, in short, looks great, and it’s infinitely worse than seeing Penny aged, because Mordelia was young before but she’s still so young but yet so mature. It’s hard to explain.

“Um,” Simon tries again, “This is Baz?”

She looks at us both with the most unamused and unimpressed expression on her face. She turns to leave, and “Mother said to bring you down for dinner,” is casually thrown over her shoulder (with her eyes narrowed into slits) as she stalks out of the room. We listen as the sounds of her heeled thigh-highs melt into the background.

Simon and I are both staring at the door where Mordelia had just been, but we’re put back into reality when there’s a childish scream and giggle from somewhere downstairs, presumably coming from one of Mordelia’s kids.

“Um,” Simon repeats, “why was that so odd?”

“What was so odd about it?”

“I just mean that she was totally fine with you being here, almost like she expected it to happen. And her magic- I expected her magic to…” he trails off noticing something on the floor. He climbs off of me in a hurry, running to crouch and grab at what I can’t see because I’m too busy rolling onto my stomach.

Simon stands slowly, a full, blossoming amaranth in his hands, the very one that was on my dresser when we came in.

And suddenly, I remember who gave it to me.

As soon as I came home for winter holiday that last year, Mordelia handed me a flower and said, “I saw this at the park, and it was so pretty it reminded me of you.” It was this very flower. I remember being extremely touched, even giving her a hug in thanks.

“She gave this to you, didn’t she?” Simon asks.

I nod, resting my chin on my hands.

A slow, sad smile grows and stretches across Simon’s face until it’s become my world.

“You know,” he says, tucking the long flower in my hair behind my ears, “This is the first time I’ve truly felt that everything was going to be okay.”

~~~~~

Dinner, to my surprise, is actually quite pleasant. Daphne and Vera have cooked up some sort of Spanish feast, and it’s delicious. Everyone is getting along, even if that’s only because I haven’t even glanced at Fiona’s side of the table yet (Simon says that it’s okay if I need time to sort out my issues with Nicodemus).

Mordelia and Niall’s kids are wonderful. I can just tell that they’re great parents, because the way my niece and nephew take to me is fantastic. They want to know all about my adventures with Simon from our school years and how it feels to not be a vampire anymore. Father stiffens at this a bit, it’s clear he’s still not comfortable with magickal beings that aren’t mages. But the kids, Elizabeth and Oliver, were raised with stories of their mother’s travels and the research she’s done, and it all gives me this sickeningly optimistic outlook for the World of Mages.  

“Speaking of your research,” Simon interrupts at some point during a conversation about the existence of cave nymphs in South America, “why weren’t you surprised at all that Baz was-”

“Underneath you and sporting a giant hickey?”

Father actually spits some of the wine he’s drinking back into the glass and Daphne tries unsuccessfully to not let a laugh escape at the sight of it. Simon blushes cherry red, but I just snort, because she’s not wrong, and because Mordelia’s smirk looks like she stared at photos of me doing it until she got it right. Good on her, I’m very proud.

“Well, who do you think funded Penny’s studies?”

He’s gaping at her. “I thought it was just the university.”

“Oh please,” Mordelia scoffs, waving a hand, “UC San Diego is filled with Normals in the administration. They hardly even accept magickal students, supposedly on accident, since that’s not actually part of the application. And it’s _not_ , but it is kind of a weird coincidence.” She chews a lip thoughtfully, “Maybe we should look into that.”

After a moment, she shakes her head. “I digress. What I meant to say is that I gathered a team of people interested in studying the afterlife, the Veil, the Visitings, and other such phenomenon and asked politely if UCSD would give them a place to perform their research. They couldn’t tell me no once I said I was willing to pay for the new building.”

“So they were really just conducting those tests for _you_?” I ask.

Mordelia’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nah,” she says, less formally. “It was for you.”

I don’t know what to say to this.

“So you knew about Penny’s colleague's hypothesis?”

“Well it’s a theory now, isn’t it? They’ll have real proof once Baz lets himself be known and gives them an interview. But yeah, I knew. I didn’t allow myself to get my hopes up, though. They said the arithmancy checked out- even if it was in a weird way- but I never studied arithmancy so the rest of the theory all just sounded like a Greek myth to me.”

“You might have understood the arithmancy if you stayed in school,” grumbled Father at the head of the table, and everyone ignored him. Edmund rolls his eyes so hard I fear they’ll stick in his skull.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Simon says, clearing his throat. “Did you say they don’t know Baz is back.”

She nodded the affirmative. “Why not?” Simon asks. “I told Penny.”

“But it wasn’t her truth to tell, was it?” Mordelia responds, eyes gleaming. “It’s yours.”

“How could that be my truth and not his?”

“Because you’re the one who’s been telling people, Simon!” Mordelia yells, gesturing with her wine glass at the table full of people before them. She frowns. “Come to think of it, Basil has probably already told his truth. The Veil’s magic would’ve compelled him to say it sooner rather than later.”

“I told him I love him today,” I blurt out, and the noise my father makes involuntarily makes me wish he was just a Visitor.

Simon is giving me a fond look that’s so cheesy it belongs in the movies, but Mordelia is shaking her head like we’re both idiots. “No, that’s too long. Did you ever feel something so deeply that you had to say it out loud?”

I think about that for a moment before remembering that I have.

“Never again,” I whisper, because it kind of hurts my heart to have to say _again_. The entire family is eavesdropping into the conversation shamelessly at this point, and they all lean closer to me to hear what I have to say.

“Never again,” I repeat more loudly, then meet everyone’s eyes (Yes. Even Nicodemus) before saying, “I really am so sorry.”

Mordelia beams at me, and her children jump out of Niall’s lap where they were previously perched to give me a huge hug. It’s adorable, and I feel like my heart is swelling.

 

**SIMON**

 

Malcolm is trying not to cry and Daphne is sobbing but I barely notice. As Vera clears the dishes away, pausing to give Baz a blank faced look like she’s seeing a ghost, all I can concentrate on how well he’s doing with his niece and nephew. They’re climbing all over him, begging for stories, and he’s just letting it happen. I suppose I expected him to be disgusted with such ill mannered beings, but I was wrong, obviously.

“You’re really good with children,” I tell him later on the ride home. We didn’t spend the night at the mansion because it probably would have been awkward, seeing as the first thing Baz whispered to me as we exited the dining room was, “I’m going to eat you so hard tonight.”

And also because it’s important for Baz to feel like he’s not being suffocated by his various family members. I’m just really excited for the former.

Baz just hums his acknowledgement and looks out the window. We’re out of the countryside by now, and the lights race each other past the glass. One of his hands rests on the center console where a long finger is slowly tapping. I think this is some sort of signal for physical contact wanted, so I oblige. Our fingers slide together easily.

He smiles like he’s trying not to, letting out a small laugh.

“What?” I ask, putting my eyes back on the road before I accidentally drive us into oncoming traffic.

“I just think I realized how much I’ve missed out on,” Baz says, speaking to our hands. My smile falls- I thought the laughter was in joy, not in sorrow.

“Like what?”

“I want what Mordelia has.”

“Success? Happiness?”

“A loving family,” he corrects.

 _Oh_.

“Baz. Are you talking about children?” I look straight at him because this is a very serious conversation, driving be damned. I trust Baz’s reflexes with a wand anyway (which I had returned to him after dinner).  

“Maybe,” he replies, eyes boring straight into mine.

My insides flip over, and then flip over again. It takes all my strength to soothe my outward appearance. I don’t want to look panicked, because even though I am, it’s for all the right reasons. I don’t want to scare him off when I genuinely like this idea.

So I shrug and turn back to the road. Try to contain my smile.

“We’ll need a bigger place to live,” I point out.

“And the city isn’t really a proper place to start a family, is it?”

I peak at him through my peripheral vision. He looks soft.

“You’re right. We need somewhere they can see the stars.”

“We can make it ourselves,” Baz suggests.

“House building? You sure know how to woo a man.”

“I’ve had _loads_ of practice, love. Remember that time I pushed you down the stairs?”

~~~~~

Less than an hour later, I’m parking the car in the lot. Baz gets out of the car stretches with his arms over his head, exposing a sliver of his lower back. My mouth waters (just a bit). He catches me staring and smirks- then _saunters_ up the walk to the flat. He's even swinging his hips, the bastard.

It’s a miracle I can even think straight, but I must be able to, since something’s just occurred to me.

“Hey!” I call, running to catch up. As I get there, I start to say his name, but Baz receipts my incoming self and spins me in his arms. He then proceeds to lower me into a dip.

“Yes love?” He asks, kissing my nose. Fuck. He's so distracting.

I try to wrestle out of his grip, but Baz just stands is up and puts a had in my back pocket and another at the behind my neck. Rocking us, only a little.

“How did you find me?”

Baz stills.

“I mean, you don't have to answer right now,” I rush to say, “I didn't mean to upset you, I was only wondering-”

He kisses me forcefully, which is a relief, because I couldn't stop from blabbering otherwise. It's merely a peck, so he's quite quick in responding, “I was called here.”

“To this building?”

“Yes and no. I appeared in the grass, under a tree, just there,” he elaborates, pointing to the lush green corner where the lot ends. It's pitch black out, given, but I've lived here for twenty years and I know _exactly_ which tree he's talking about. I used to sit there with headphones on and people watch, whenever I was feeling particularly glum. Sometimes Penny would bring me out ice cream and a blanket (we still lived together then) and we'd have ourselves a proper urban picnic.

“I had no clue where I was, or what was happening. I remembered catching fire, and I could still feel that thick fog, as if it was still in my throat.” He shivers. “Anyway. I wanted to see you, but didn’t know how. I figured my best shot was to find a public place and start asking around.”

I glance at the starbucks on the other side of the street. He snorts. “Yeah, I went in there. I went and ordered a drink, and then asked the boy working if he knew a Simon Snow. Before he could answer, the woman waiting behind me tapped my shoulder. She looked so eager and said she knew who I was looking for. She pointed across the street, gave me your flat number, and said, ‘You’d better be good company.’”

“Hang on- what did she look like?”

Baz frowns, hand on chin, trying to recall the woman’s appearance. “Short, dirty blonde hair, big green eyes-”

“Kind of a soft looking face?” I ask.

“Yes. Do you know her?”

I laugh and laugh. “Yeah. That was my old boss.”

He looks at me like I’ve gone mad. “Why is that so funny?”

“It’s just- the last thing she said to me was ‘Did you find good company?’ And she was always berating me about…” I trail off.

“About what?” He presses.

“Finding happiness.”

Baz smiles and pulls me to his chest.

“Falling in love.”

Places a tender kiss into my hair.

“And with both of those, creating a future.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always welcome! :-D
> 
> OBVIOUSLY I can't just leave you guys hanging. Everyone's favorite boys deserve a happy ending, don't they? Part III of this series coming soon (say, has anyone wondered where Agatha is? I mean, what's going on in her life? Hint hint, cough cough).


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